Part 1 (1/2)
Bijou.
by Gyp.
I.
MADAME DE BRACIEUX was working for her poor people. She poked her thick, light, tortoise-sh.e.l.l crochet-needle into the ball of coa.r.s.e wool, and putting that down on her lap, lifted her head and looked across at her great-nephew, Jean de Blaye.
”Jean,” she said, ”what are you gazing at that is so interesting? You stand there with your nose flattened against the window-pane, just exactly as you did when you were a little boy, and were so insufferable.”
Jean de Blaye lifted his head abruptly. He had been leaning his forehead against the gla.s.s of the bay-window.
”I?” he answered, hesitating slightly. ”Oh, nothing, aunt--nothing at all!”
”Nothing at all? Oh, well, I must say that you seem to be looking at nothing at all with a great deal of attention.”
”Do not believe him, grandmamma!” said Madame de Rueille in her beautiful, grave, expressive voice; ”he is hoping all the time to see a cab appear round the bend of the avenue.”
”Is he expecting someone?” asked the marchioness.
”Oh, no!” explained M. de Rueille, laughing; ”but a cab, even a Pont-sur-Loire cab, would remind him of Paris. Bertrade is teasing him.”
”I don't care all that much about being reminded of Paris,” muttered Jean, without stirring.
Madame de Rueille gazed at him in astonishment. ”One would almost think he was in earnest!” she remarked.
”In earnest, but absent-minded!” said the marchioness, and then, turning towards a young abbe, who was playing loto with the de Rueille children, she asked:
”Monsieur, will you tell us whether there is anything interesting taking place on the terrace?”
The abbe, who was seated with his back to the bay-window, looked behind him over his shoulder, and replied promptly:
”I do not see anything in the slightest degree interesting, madame.”
”Nothing whatever,” affirmed Jean, leaving the window, and taking his seat on a divan.
One of the de Rueille children, forgetting his loto cards, and leaving the abbe to call out the numbers over and over again with untiring patience, suddenly perched himself up on a chair, and, by his grimaces, appeared to be making signals to someone through the window.
”Marcel dear, at whom are you making those horrible grimaces?” asked the grandmother, puzzled.
”At Bijou,” replied the child; ”she is out there gathering flowers.”
”Has she been there long?” asked the marchioness.
It was the abbe who answered this time.
”About, ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, madame.”
”And you consider that Bijou is not interesting to look at?” exclaimed the old lady, laughing. ”You are difficult to please, monsieur!”